


Everybody Comes a-Running

by Infinite_Monkeys



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Injury, No Plot/Plotless, Pointless fluff, Team Bonding, Team as Family, fic of a fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-14 00:46:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18042233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infinite_Monkeys/pseuds/Infinite_Monkeys
Summary: A mild setback, an Earth tradition, and some team bonding.Set, with permission, in the universe of iguessyouregoingtomissthepantyraid'sOh, Hey There, Mister Blue





	Everybody Comes a-Running

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Oh, Hey There, Mister Blue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13061922) by [iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid/pseuds/iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid). 



> This is just an essentially plotless one-shot That I wrote because I absolutely love the amazing fic [Oh, Hey There, Mister Blue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13061922/chapters/29877600) by iguessyouregoingtomissthepantyraid (and also because I have no self-control). If you haven't read it already, I highly, highly recommend it, especially if you are a fan of interactions between the Guardians & Loki (although let's be honest, if you're a fan of that it's probably because you've read this fic already)!
> 
> This is super self-indulgent, so be warned. 
> 
> Also, I do not own any of the characters! This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction, and rights to the characters belong to Marvel.

Gamora leans forward in the drab waiting-room chair and thinks about how out-of-place the team looks here in the little clinic. Everything is honey-colored wood and hideously cheerful fabric, and they're still covered in the dust and sweat of their latest adventure. The other people waiting occasionally dart them wary looks. 

Peter is fidgeting restlessly in the chair next to her, picking up magazines from the table in front of them and staring at them for a few seconds before setting them down, unread. On his other side Rocket has gotten ahold of...something, and is carefully disassembling it. She probably should  be more concerned about that, but as it doesn't look too important and no one seems to be panicking and looking for it, she lets it go.

Kraglin and Mantis are taking turns filling in numbers in some sort of logic puzzle, and Drax is asleep with his head tipped back against the wall, snoring gently. Groot, of course, sits hunched in a chair, so absorbed in his game he could be back on the ship.

Her attention turns back to Peter as he lets out a slow breath, drumming his fingertips impatiently on her armrest. “It feels like this is taking a long time. Do you think it's taking a long time?”

“It hasn't been that long,” she answers, and objectively, it hasn't. It only feels long because the room is boring, and despite everything, it's impossible not to be a little bit anxious in a place like this.

“Do you think everything's okay? Should we ask somebody? It feels like it's been a long time.” He fidgets. Peter does this when he's nervous, wrapping the cords of his headphones around his hand and twisting them. He wears them slung around his neck, where they can't block him from hearing his surroundings, and every few minutes he glances towards the door.

“Everything's fine,” Gamora says firmly, and, like clockwork, he glances back towards the door.

Rocket is finished reassembling the thing, and whatever it used to be, it's now a long reach-extending grabber perfect for causing trouble. She puts out a hand almost instinctively to block it from stealing Groot's game from across the room.

Rocket complains, Mantis shuffles in her seat, Drax snores on and the clock on the wall ticks loudly. The seconds seem to stretch longer as they wait.

* * *

 

Their mission is a simple one. So simple, in fact, as to be well below their pay grade, which is the main reason they took it. Every so often, quarters on the ship grow tight with long travel, and then it's only a matter of time before tempers grow short. An easy job that allows them to let off steam is better than listening to Rocket and Drax argue. 

Besides, it's a good cause. An overgrown predator is wreaking havok in several of the planet's major cities, and apparently the more traditional peacekeepers aren't equipped to take it out. The species isn't native to the planet, which means it's probably an exotic pet that escaped from someone's collection and grew too large to manage.

They track it to its lair using a combination of Rocket's infrared sensors and Loki's Viking tracking skills. While they do manage to catch it off guard, the beast is large and the terrain is terrible, and it turns what should have been an easy fight into a careful dance.

Eventually they push it back and a misstep sends it tumbling over the edge of a cliff, but part of the edge crumbles off with it, and when it falls Loki falls too. He goes sheet-pale when he hits the ground, but that doesn't stop him from twisting and slamming a dagger through the beast's eye when it struggles to rise.

“Are you okay?” Mantis calls down from the top of the cliff, and Gamora grabs Drax's wrist just in time to keep him from leaping straight over the edge, probably to prove that he could. Instead, she picks out a precarious path down the steep slope and motions the others to follow.

“I'm fine,” Loki calls back. By the time they reach the bottom he's already on his feet, but he's also leaning unsteadily on a thick tree trunk for support, and his face is twisted into an uncomfortable grimace. Mantis frowns in sympathy.

“What's the worst of it?” Gamora asks, clinical. She's long since learned to ask certain members of the team where and not whether they're hurt; wrestling with denials takes up valuable time, and several of the fools she calls friends would use their dying breath to insist they were fine.

Loki eyes her like he knows exactly what she's doing, then grits out “My leg. The bone is fractured, but it will heal.”

“Will you heal faster if we take you to see a doctor?” she asks, and the thin line his lips press themselves into all but answer the question for him.

“I shall recover well enough either way,” he says, clearly aiming for a casual tone. It comes out strained.

“That's not what she asked, buddy,” Peter says, shaking his head.

Loki attempts to straighten, but doing so unbalances him enough that he shifts some weight onto his injured leg and draws in a sharp breath. “It is possible,” he concedes.

“Okay,” Peter says, and he claps his hands together at the pronouncement. “Then we're going. Rocket?”

“I've already got coordinates to the nearest clinic,” he says, typing on a small device while Gamora loops one of Loki's arms over her shoulder to take some of his weight.

“I am Groot,” Groot says, just a little bit sarcastically.

“Well, not everyone can just grow a new limb,” Rocket answers him.

“I am Groot.”

“What, Drax's new leg? It's fake. That doesn't count.”

“He has a convincing argument,” Drax says, and that's all it takes for them to start a three-person debate.

They fall behind, just a little, and Kraglin falls back with them to wordlessly duck under Loki's other arm. He frowns and looks like he's contemplating rejecting the help, but wisely decides to remain silent.

By the time they reach the small clinic, Loki falls exhausted into one of the chairs in the small waiting area. Gamora drops down beside him, rolling the strain out of her shoulder while Peter goes ahead to explain the situation to the man behind the front desk. Rocket, Groot and Drax have somehow moved on to a passionate argument about beekeeping.

It takes only a short time for Peter to finish and Loki to be admitted back, and the rest of the team settles in for the interminable wait.

* * *

 

Peter shoots up straight in his seat as the door opens, same as he has every time so far. This time, though, it actually is Loki that hobbles his way out into the small waiting area, and they're both on their feet in an instant. He's leaning on a pair of crutches and one leg is stuck out oddly, completely coated in white plaster. His face is still drawn and exhausted, but the tight expression of pain seems to have eased.

Peter's eyes light up. “Oh boy, you got a cast!”

Loki stares for a second before answering, in his driest voice, “Yes, I have broken my bones beyond their capacity to heal on a planet so primitive that encasing my leg in plaster is seen as acceptably advanced medical practice. Good of you to celebrate.”

“I mean, yeah, it sucks, but casts are cool. At least if you have cool friends, they are. And we're the coolest.”

“I am warm,” Drax says, sitting up as though he hadn't been sleeping at all. “The climate of this planet is temperate.”

Peter frowns. “Dude, we've been on a team for how long? I'm starting to think you're just messing with me.”

“Ugh,” Loki says, “It's like having skin made of stone. Now I know how Korg must feel.” He flexes his fingers with a grimace. “It itches.”

“Yup,” Peter says, popping the "p". “That part only gets worse. I broke my arm in third grade and ended up trying to scratch it with a fork.” He grimaced. “The fork got stuck, and they ended up having to take me back to remove it.”

There's a snorted laugh, and to her surprise, it's Kraglin and not Rocket or Drax. “Yeah, sounds like you,” he says, and Peter rolls his eyes.

“The point,” he says, “is that casts are _awesome_  because you can decorate them. It's a tradition. My friends signed mine, and my mom drew a cool picture of Freddie Mercury on it. It was great.” Loki still looks skeptical, but Peter nods to himself. “You'll see.”

Loki snorts. “I suspect I will have little choice.”

“You're darn right.” Peter grins. “Your leg's broken. That means you can't run away.”

“It's hardly sporting.”

“Like you could get away from us anyway,” Rocket says. “Face it, you're stuck with us.”

“I am able to move freely,” Drax says. “I am not stuck to anyone.”

* * *

 

The trek back takes twice as long as it probably should, and at the end they are all too tired to function but too high on adrenaline to sleep. Rocket takes it onto himself to bully Loki onto the couch to rest. Peter drags over a short table for him to prop up the cast, and he complies with a grateful sigh. Drax makes ice packs, because after a fight like that they're all nursing at least minor bruises.

“Okay,” Peter says when they've all more or less settled. Cheerful music drifts on in the background, quiet enough to talk over. “I know what I want to draw.”

“Nothing crude,” Gamora interjects when he pulls out a marker and uncaps it.

“I'm hurt,” he says in an exaggerated voice. “I'm not crude. I am a _gentleman_.” Rocket snorts.

“I'm not certain I've agreed to this,” Loki says, but the way he's sunk into the pillows and blinking slowly suggests he might be on the edge of dozing off.

“Hush,” Peter says, “You can't run, remember? And besides, my idea is awesome.” He bends over the blank expanse of cast and starts sketching happily. Loki doesn't bother to stop him, which probably means he doesn't really mind. 

“Toss me one of those,” Rocket says after a moment. Gamora passes it over and then he, too, is sketching. Drax silently picks up a marker, looking thoughtful, and Kraglin says “Oh what the hell,” before joining in. Groot passes one to Mantis before grabbing one for himself.

Gamora shrugs and grabs the last pen still on the table. It's green, so she finds an open spot and starts drawing a tree, twisting the branches together in a simplified version of the pattern of Yggdrasil Loki has on a tapestry above his bed.

“I'm doing a self-portrait,” Rocket announces, and when she glances over, surely enough, he's scrawled out a simple sketch of himself in bright purple ink.

“I am Groot.”

“You're just copying me,” Rocket huffs.

“I am Groot.”

“Drax, what are you drawing?” She asks, mostly to cut off the argument before it escalates. After all, both opponents are armed with permanent ink.

He makes intentional eye contact with Loki. “I am drawing you foolishly falling off of a cliff,” he says, “because that is what happened.”

Loki huffs, but he really does look only half-awake at this point.

She adds leaves to her tree, vaguely pleased with how it's turning out. It's grown large enough to brush the edges of Rocket's cartoon feet, giving the impression that the purple raccoon is balancing on the world tree.

“I'm drawing a dog,” Kraglin announces.

“Why a dog?”

He shrugs. “It's the only thing I know how to draw.”

Mantis doodles an elaborate pattern of flowers that runs along the edge and winds between the other drawings. They spread out gradually to fill in the blank spaces, and she bites her lip in concentration while she works.

Gamora finishes the tree and caps the pen, then leans back to watch the others. There's a pleasant industry to the scene, and everyone has fallen into a comfortable silence. The day-to-day tension they'd taken the mission to escape seems, for just a moment, to have fallen away, and instead there's a sort of easy peace. They'll have to go back to their regular routines soon enough, but for the moment, they all seem satisfied by the activity and each other's company.

“Done!” Peter shouts suddenly, and Rocket startles hard enough to leave a jagged line on the edge of his drawing, then glares. “Look,” he announces, and she leans in. “It's Freddie Mercury.” He grins, clearly pleased with himself, and she puts a hand over her mouth to cover her smile.

“Yep! Oh, I almost forgot.” He picks up the pen and signs his name with a flourish. “There. Now it's art.” He looks up at Loki. “Whatdya think?”

“Shh,” Mantis says, still doodling flowers. It isn't hard to see why—Loki's head has lolled off at an angle, his eyes closed.

One eye opens into a slit, though, and Loki leans forward just slightly to look over the now garishly decorated cast. “I don't know why you all bothered,” he says, voice heavy with the edge of sleep. “I heal quickly. This'll only last a couple of days before it's time to remove it.”

Peter punches his arm, the one not covered in ice packs. “It was _fun_ ,” he insists.

Groot is now drawing on himself, and Gamora leans over to snag the pen. “It was,” she agrees.

“'S nonsense,” Loki whispers, and drifts back to sleep.

Later, no one says anything when they catch him studying the drawings, running a fingertip along the edges and tracing them out with a small, contented smile.

And if Loki keeps it on just a little longer than is probably necessary given how fast he heals, well, no one says anything about that either.

 


End file.
